Samirah's Ride

by Annie Wedekind

  . . .

  I don’t know what I thought was happening to Cold Creek, to us, the herd. I suppose I was too absorbed in my own changes, and in Jasper’s, to wonder about what the future held for our families. There were fewer of us, horses and people, and more work. Spring was coming—you could just smell it buried deep in the snow, but rising. Life, grass, the hint of leaves on the buckthorn trees by the stream. Soon the first woodland stars peeped from clutches of rocks along the foothills of our mountains, and Jasper began gathering stalks of Blue-eyed Mary to weave in my tail braid. She had just started experimenting with different styles of braid, and I wished I could see them.

  I knew that if we had no horses to ride—except for those belonging to the family—that must mean no guests were coming. As it turned out, a stranger did arrive, in May. He seemed very old to me, short and thin with a crooked sort of gait and white hair that tufted from his head like the filaments of a milkweed pod. He came one morning in a sky-blue pickup truck that groaned loudly down the drive, and moved into the smallest guest cottage, perched on a bluff overlooking our fields. I was surprised when he immediately sought out Sunny, bringing him carrots and a firm offer of friendship, which Sunny just as quickly accepted. Soon the two old-timers were making daily excursions around the property, never moving faster than a walk. The man rode with a sort of pack slung over his back, and he loaded Sunny’s saddlebags with a variety of tools I didn’t know the uses for.

  Jasper seemed to understand them, and she was very curious about the old man, whom she called Mr. Sun. The day he arrived she kept her distance from him, mostly weeding the vegetable plot and playing tag with me. (Tag was a game I loved in which I would nip a soft cloth out of Jasper’s hand and wave it around in my teeth until she managed to get it back from me. And then I’d steal it again. It was lovely.) The next day she was tied to the house, cooking and cleaning with Miz M, and only emerging at dusk to give me a tired hug and pat. But on the third day, when Mr. Sun had saddled Sunny, strapped on his pack, and they sauntered off toward the stream, Jasper quickly bridled me (she often rode me without a saddle) and we went off in pursuit.

  We found them in one of our own favorite spots, where the brambly trees opened up into a small flowery meadow bound by the river and two tributaries, with a view of the beyond mountains in the distance. Sunny was untethered, cropping grass in the warm sunshine, and Mr. Sun was sitting on a rock, gazing at the mountains. If he heard our approach, he didn’t indicate it. Jasper slid from my back and tied my reins in a knot, and I walked over to join Sunny while she cautiously approached the silent, still figure on the rock.

  Sunny greeted me amiably, nibbling at my bridle, and I snuffled his mane. He was very clean—Mr. Sun groomed him well.

  My companion, Sunny said.

  I didn’t know what he meant at first. Sunny didn’t have a companion, really, though he was treasured by both the human family and the herd. He had been around for so long . . . been calm and loving and accepting of so many riders, of so many new horses. . . . I didn’t really think of him as needing, or wanting, his own person. He belonged to all of us.

  Mr. Sun. Sunny. We have the same name. I think I’ve been waiting for him.

  I stared at the old palomino, swaybacked and gray-whiskered but strong. His expression was gentle, as usual, but there was a new, soft spark in his eyes.

  It is good he is light. We are old. We can be old together. We will take walks and stand in the sunshine. The spark flared up as Sunny gazed at the man, then he lowered his head to graze again.

  I’m glad, I managed to say, but I was unsettled. Sunny had a companion—now all of us did—but surely Mr. Sun would be leaving. And the thought of the old gelding’s sorrow made my heart beat too hard. Sunny . . . our grandfather, our rock . . . suddenly vulnerable because of this small old human. It was all very strange.

  Meanwhile, Jasper and Mr. Sun were having their own conversation. He was showing her his tools, which looked to me like a stiff sheet lying on a board, a black stick, and a very small brush. He moved his hands over the sheet with the brush and Jasper watched him intently. I couldn’t figure out what he was doing, so I resumed grazing until Jasper called me over to introduce me to Mr. Sun.

  “Ah, an Arabian!” His features seemed to disappear into a maze of lightly scored lines as he smiled. “My daughter has an Arabian. A gray stallion named Shan, which means ‘lightning’ in Chinese.”

  My ears pricked. Shan. It was a noble name, like Samirah.

  Jasper was similarly impressed. “Shan,” she whispered. “That’s beautiful.” She paused. “So, do you, like, speak Chinese mostly?”

  “Good lord, no!” Mr. Sun laughed. “I know a little, mostly words for food, but Emily, my daughter, studied it in school. She’s probably the first person in the family since my grandfather to speak it fluently.”

  “Was it your grandfather who emigrated?” Jasper asked. I could tell she was feeling a little shy, but I don’t know if Mr. Sun noticed. Jasper could be funny that way, skittish around people though so bold about most everything else.

  “No, my great-grandfather. In fact, he was one of the workers who built the last ten miles of track that connected the transcontinental railroad, over in Promontory. That was back—”

  “In 1869,” Jasper interrupted. “Wow! That’s like . . . legendary!”

  “You know your history, young lady.” Mr. Sun nodded.

  “I love the old Western stuff.” Jasper shrugged, but she was pleased. “Our ranch was started in the 1880s.”

  “Beat you here.” Mr. Sun winked at her and she laughed.

  I heaved a sigh to signal to Jasper that I wanted to return to Sunny, and she let me go. My girl and Sunny’s old man spent an hour together, talking and looking at Mr. Sun’s hands as he worked with his odd tools. As I watched how companionable they seemed, I had a feeling Sunny and I were going to be spending a lot more time together. I was both wrong and right, as a change came that even Buck couldn’t have foreseen.

  CHAPTER 6

  To whom is it that I am going to yield thee up? . . .

  Return with me, my beauty! my jewel!

  And rejoice the hearts

  of my children!

  It happened so suddenly, like a summer lightning strike.

  Except no, there had been storm clouds gathering for a long time . . . the dispersal of the herd, Bull’s leaving . . . Red’s ever-present, physically palpable stress. And I get mixed up in my memories, for part of that summer was peaceful, after the arrival of Mr. Sun. For a month, maybe more. Then the old man told Jasper that when he left Cold Creek, he’d be taking Sunny with him.

  “Dad’s selling him to you?” Jasper was shocked, but I was glad. It would have broken Sunny’s heart to be left behind.

  Mr. Sun nodded. “He’ll go with me to my daughter’s. You know, my wife died this year, so I’m going to live with Emily’s family. This summer . . . was my time to say good-bye to Mrs. Sun, to say good-bye to my old life. I needed solitude for painting and thinking, but I also got two very good friends.” First he patted Sunny, then Jasper.

  “Okay,” was all that Jasper whispered.

  “I’m glad you approve. I hope you find good homes for the rest of the horses, especially Sami.”

  I think Jasper and I flinched at the same time.

  “What?” We both stared at him. Mr. Sun suddenly looked alarmed and reached for Jasper’s hand.

  “Your father told me he was thinking seriously of selling the ranch. Did I misunderstand?” His voice was soft but I could feel the tension in it.

  Jasper was silent for a long time, her posture frozen. Then she slowly untangled herself from her seated position and rose stiffly. She walked to my side, pulled herself into the saddle, but did not ask me to move forward. She seemed to have frozen again.

  “Jasper?” Mr. Sun said again. “I may have been mistaken. Please forgive me if I’ve upset you.”

  Still, my companion seemed stuck, unable to speak
or move.

  “I should not have said anything, Jasper.” Now Mr. Sun sounded very worried. “You should speak to your mother and father directly. I hate to think that I’ve caused you pain, when surely—”

  “You’re probably the only one who bothered to tell me the truth.” Jasper’s voice was broken with tears.

  Suddenly her heels dug urgently into my sides, but I needed no encouragement. I wheeled around and we ran as fast as I could carry us back to the ranch. Jasper’s breath came in sobs and I felt a wild energy coursing through her, and through me. I had to find Magpie. Surely Magpie would know what was happening. I plunged through the creek, scrambled up the bank, and pounded through the meadow, my breath sounding close to sobs, too.

  I was dismayed when Jasper led me to the barn instead of putting me out in the field. Her hands were trembling as she hastily untacked me and slid the stall door shut behind her. I neighed at the top of my lungs to her, to Magpie, to Buck and Chief, rushing toward the door, then swinging my hindquarters around in a frantic circle as I paced my confines. Finally I heard Magpie’s answering whinny:

  “What’s wrong? What is it?”

  Then Buck: “Forest fire! Is there a forest fire?” (Of course he would go straight to something like that.)

  Chief simply neighed: “Sami girl? Hold on there, filly. I’m on my way.”

  Sure enough, I soon heard the steady clop-clop of Chief’s hooves across the driveway, and I smelled Peach’s signature cattle-and-coffee scent.

  “Jasper?” Peach called out as she pelted into the house. “Where’s the fire?”

  I hoped that wouldn’t start Buck off again, but I wasn’t sure how much he actually understood of human speech, anyway.

  Peach put Chief in the cross-ties at the front of the barn and went to get the clippers (Chief for some reason was quite furry and needed his bridle path and hocks clipped fairly frequently when it was hot). I could just see my friend from between the bars of my stall door and trumpeted to him again.

  “The herd! Leaving! Jasper’s upset! I’m upset!”

  “Magpie didn’t say so,” Chief snorted. “All’s well, filly. Calm down. Buck ain’t sensed it.”

  “Mr. Sun is taking Sunny!”

  That gave Chief pause. He looked at me for a long time.

  “We’ll miss him,” he sighed.

  Chief didn’t understand. Magpie and Buck didn’t understand. They didn’t hear what Mr. Sun had said.

  “We’re losing our home!” I whinnied.

  “I just don’t think so, Sami,” Chief whickered. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

  That was always Chief’s attitude. I usually found it comforting, but right now it was infuriating. But there was nothing I could do: I was stuck in my stall and had to wait. I paced in circles while Chief was clipped, banged my hooves against the door when he was led out, causing Peach to actually holler at me, and went around and around in frustration as the sun set and the ranch quieted. I longed to be in the pasture . . . I longed for Magpie, my leader . . . but mostly I longed for Jasper. Whatever was happening, we needed to face it together.

  . . .

  I must have fallen asleep at some point during that long night, for I was woken by Jasper quietly slipping into my stall and whispering shhhhhh. She was carrying my saddle and bridle, plus an old set of saddlebags that I’d worn before on our longer rides. Everything smelled as if it had been recently oiled, and one saddlebag was already packed, for it was heavier than the other. Jasper slipped me a carrot from her pocket and quickly finished tacking me up. Her hands were no longer trembling—she moved swiftly, I would say, almost furiously. I stood very still, at attention, letting her work without interference. She picked my hooves, then put the pick in the empty saddlebag, along with my currycomb, brush, and several additional items from the tack room. Then she strapped a roll of blankets behind the saddle’s cantle and wedged another roll of material in front, under the horn.

  “Sami, I hope this is comfortable,” she said in a low voice. It was—unfamiliar, but not irritating. I stood calmly to let her know I was fine. “Good girl,” Jasper said, and patted my shoulder. As she led me from the stall, I realized that all the things on my back were fairly heavy, and would be more so once Jasper was aboard. I watched her pull her arms through the straps of her own pack, and then she gingerly mounted me, taking care to settle lightly on the saddle. Definitely heavier than I was used to, but I could carry this weight and more if Jasper needed. I may only be a shade over fourteen hands, but that has always been more than enough for an Arabian, even cavalry mounts like several of my great-great-aunts and -uncles.

  I don’t think it was until we stepped from the barn out onto the driveway that I really considered what we were doing. I had been so absorbed in Jasper’s preparations and in doing my best to be cooperative that I hadn’t thought through what they meant. We walked slowly out into the darkest part of the night, when the crickets have quieted and the land seems very lonely and strange. This is the time of night when the herd always gathers closest, forming a protective circle against the dark and all that the dark holds. But Jasper and I were not seeking protection. Nor was this the beginning of a lighthearted, untrained day—that I knew from my companion’s fierce concentration as well as by the hour of night.

  Jasper and I were running away.

  We didn’t go through the gate into the pasture, where most of our adventures started. Instead Jasper guided me to the strip of grass between the driveway and the fence line and we headed toward the entrance to the ranch, which was protected by the cattle guard but had no gate. As I walked quietly along the fence, I could hear the herd stirring nearby, alerted, no doubt, by Buck that something unusual was happening. We were about halfway down the drive when Magpie’s figure broke away from the dark night and became visible.

  “It’s okay, Mags,” Jasper whispered. Magpie raised her head and nickered an inquiry to me.

  “Shhhhh, Magpie!” Jasper hissed.

  I understood what Jasper wanted—it was like playing Indian scout. I paused by the fence and my chestnut muzzle reached for Magpie’s white one.

  “Good-bye,” I breathed.

  “Not for long, though. Take care of your girl.”

  “I will.”

  I don’t know why or how Magpie believed that this wasn’t a permanent good-bye—like Irish’s, like Dodger’s . . . like Sunny’s would be. But her confidence comforted me as I picked my way along the grass as noiselessly as possible. We crossed the cattle guard, and Jasper stopped me to look back at the ranch. All was dark and silent, except for the first trills of the mountain bluebirds, which meant that dawn was on its way. And with a last farewell glance at the sleeping house and fields, so were we.

  . . .

  The sun was well up when we reached the outlaws’ cave—a narrow gash in the rocky mountainside that was quite hard to spot unless you knew where to look. We had picnicked at this spot many times before, and after taking a long drink from the stream, I settled down to graze. Jasper rummaged through her pack and pulled out some of her own food, but it remained in her hand, uneaten, as she lay back against a rock and stared straight ahead with reddened eyes.

  We had a beautiful, long view of the land from here, and Jasper and I gazed out at the wildflower-filled foothills all morning, absorbing the quiet, drinking the stream’s cold water and the mountainside’s clean air. After I was thoroughly watered and rested, I felt suddenly, well, playful. I knew Jasper’s spirits were very low, and I knew I should be feeling serious. I had been saddled with a great responsibility, and I had probably just lost my herd and my home. Nevertheless, my blood was singing, and I was full to the brim with lively animal spirits. We were on an adventure! I wanted a flower or two in my forelock, perhaps some paint around one eye. Or maybe we could just play tag.

  I looked over at Jasper. She was still sitting in the shade, her knees pulled in and her arms wrapped tightly around them. She looked like a turtle trying to get all its
limbs tucked inside its shell. Her face was hidden in the crook of her elbow, and her fingers curled around a red bandanna that she’d been using to wipe her face. Casually, as if I were strolling over to a new patch of grass, I made my way up the slope. I was quite good at moving quietly, and Jasper didn’t stir, even when I was nearly at her side. I stretched out my neck, leaned forward as far as I could without taking another step, and lipped the bandanna free.

  Jasper’s head shot up, her mouth a little circle of surprise. I crab-stepped back and shook the cloth in my teeth. The expression on her wet face softened. I nodded my head up and down, then gave another big shake as I pawed at the gravelly rocks that littered the slope. Jasper smiled. Finally I sauntered back toward her, as if I didn’t care whether or not she got the bandanna back from me. Just as she reached out her hand to take it, I whirled away, cantering down the slope and throwing my head around like a dog with a rabbit. Jasper sprang to her feet with a laughing shout and flew after me, calling, “Okay, Sami, you win!”

  We chased each other over the grassy slope, through the creek, in circles and arabesques and pirouettes. (Well, I pirouetted at least. Jasper was a bit clumsier in her boots.) Eventually I let her steal the cloth back, and then she tied it around her head and jumped on my back, which was clever. She leaned back to rest her head on my hindquarters, and sighed.

  “Oh, Sami, what are we going to do? I mean, Mom’s probably flipping.”

  Well, I’d sort of gotten used to the idea of running away, but I did not want to upset Miz M, either.

  “I just wish they could say for certain one way or the other. It’s always maybe we’ll have to . . . We’ll just have to see. . . .

  “Dad says he’d never sell you, but what are we going to do if we lose the ranch?”

  I breathed a deep sigh of relief, and Jasper laughed.

  “Sometimes I think you really understand what I’m saying, Sami.”